Losing it
by Krisskittie
Summary: A rather sad look at Ryuichi's life. Post-anime Rated R for drug abuse and foul language. Shounen ai hints. Use discretion.


Gravitation belongs to Maki Murakami, and whoever else holds the licensing stuff to it. I don't own it, because if I did there would be random orgies springing from nothingness. Woohoo  
  


Author's note- Saw Gravi. Own 1-4 and will buy 5 when it comes out. Gravi sparked a love for fanfiction anew. I hope to get back into the spring of things here on FF.net with this fc, but don't hold your breath waiting for regular updates, lol, sorry. I am an English major with broadcasting minor now. I am so busy it's really not funny  
  


Note #2: Please read and review. REVIEW, not flame. If I got anything wrong, you disagree, whatever, then that's fine. Constructive criticism is a helpful thing. This was just some random thing that popped into existence. Kumagorou made me write it. Ha. One-shot unless anyone begs otherwise.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The little pink bunny bounced a bit atop his perch. His face: the smile permanently goofy, while his black eyes reflected the light. Pika, pika . . . Ryuichi's long fingers brushed against the careworn fur. The bunny's ears flopped as Ryuichi bounced him again, as one would bounce a small child. Under his breath he sang a soft little song created for both him and his bunny.   
  


"Na no na no na no, na no na no da Na no na no..." He trailed off. Kumagorou-chan bounced along to the now soundless music. Sighing, Ryuichi picked up the plush, hugging him tightly for a second as a brief spasm gripped him, leaving him silently screaming. His eyes burnt and the world went foggy and swirled for a second.

Standing, he went to his closet, digging in the very back. Shoving aside silken whore-ish items, he pulled out a dark leather jacket, never worn save by its previous owner. Ryuichi hugged the jacket close, crushing Kumagorou in the process. As if the bunny had voiced his suffocating complaints the singer froze, shifting the stuffed toy to his other arm so he could cuddle both.   
  


He inhaled the scent on the jacket deeply. It brought back memories. A gentle hand ruffling his hair, a strong voice that was softened for his child. A warm hug after a business trip and hands putting a stuffed pink rabbit into his arms; Ryuichi missed his father. He missed his Daddy a lot. Kumagorou had been given to him so that even when his Daddy couldn't be with him, he would never be alone. Daddy may have left him, but at least he had his Kumagorou-chan.  
  


Grief sucked Ryuichi in. He dropped to his knees trying not to wail out his pain. He thought that his body would break from the force of his sobs. He tried to cry quietly. He didn't know why, but he was trying to release his grief silently. No one was there to hear him in his ridiculously large apartment. No one was there to spy the Great Golden singing god Sakuma Ryuichi holding a plush and rocking in the middle of his bedroom floor, crying like the lost child he felt like. But he wasn't a child, he was a 31-year-old man. He was a very lonely 31 year old man. Even during the height of Nittle Grasper's fame he'd been lonely, though they kept him busy enough not to notice.  
  


He sniffled, grimacing at his nose and sinus's unwillingness to unclog. He coughed a bit, choking on saliva, and what he was pretty sure was snot. Breathing through his mouth, he stumbled up and toward a box of kleenex on his night stand. Three kleenex later he was able to breathe easier and his face was dry, though a bit raw. He shoved the memories of his father down, before his eyes could begin leaking again. Kumagorou grinned up at him, and he smiled. It was like his father smiling at him through his "best friend's" threaded mouth.  
  


The grown-up part of his mind shoved his childlike part away. He stared down at Kumagorou. Why couldn't he just let it all go? He wanted more than just his friends. He wanted someone to love him above everyone else. Someone to see beyond the needy child. Yes, that childish mask broke every once in awhile. The eternal happiness would flee. It mostly happened when he was on-stage, and he would sing his heart, soul, and his everything out. Tohma and Noriko loved him for it. His fans worshiped him for it. The record company paid him a lot of money for it. Then he would get off the stage and be cute, feeble-minded lil' Ryu-chan. That lovable idiot, with his 5-year-old mentality. He was just so fucking sick of it.   
  


In an instant of rage he screamed and wadded up his Kumagorou-chan and threw the plush at the wall. It rebounded, splitting at the back of his head and neck, stuffing spraying. Crack and splat. It was just like Ryuichi was sure his Daddy's head had done in the car accident that had killed him. Car trips made him nervous and sick now. Tohma was the one who usually tried to entertain him and take his mind off things when they were touring. He would buy him sketch pads and coloring books, (he still had the care bears picture him and Tohma had colored of Hugs and Tugs), or they'd work on their music with Tohma's keyboard. It had made him feel special that Tohma paid so much attention to him. Oh, Noriko took care of him too. Her maternal instincts extended to him.  
  


"'What have you eaten besides Pocky today, Ryu-chan?' 'Don't color on the floor of the bus' 'You need to go get some sleep now.' 'Aww, don't you feel good today, Ryu-chan?'"  
  


He loved her for her concern, sure. It reminded him of his own mother. He hadn't seen his mother in a very long time. He used to go visit her before she got really bad. Her liver was too far gone. He supposed all those drugs and the alcohol did it. The nurses and psychiatrists had been very supportive, and had let him see her whenever his Aunt and Uncle had taken him to visit.   
  


Whirling about, Ryuichi stamped his foot at nothing and nobody in particular. If he'd trusted himself to be coherent enough, he would go write a song. That always helped him. He would write these amazing lyrics, dredging them up from whenever they came from in his confused mind. He stood, frozen...he was bored, and depressed, and quite lonely. He actually missed the constant companionship and suffocating feeling he'd had when he was on tour. Even when everything got to be too much, and he'd started to wonder that maybe he wanted to be alone for once, and Tohma and Noriko would begin to become upset with his tantrums, well, it had been better than this silence. The silence was much more suffocating than the feeling of being around your best friends too much, and just needing space.   
  


He stalked over to where Kumagorou lay battered and picked up his friend. He stroked the bunny's head laying it on the bed. Poor Kuma-chan. He muttered sorry and bent to kiss the toy on that slightly scarred nose. He lay the jacket on the bed reverently. Kumagorou was left with an order to guard it. Ryuichi frowned. He opened his top drawer in the night stand and fumbled about. He had some speed leftover from being on tour so long ago. He did miss those old, old days of Nittle Grasper. Everything had been so much more fun then. He'd forgotten everything and just lived. Really lived. Noriko and Tohma hadn't been too busy with their own lives then. They had so much time for him. And now his internal monologue was being to sound like that of a spoiled child. Damn it all! He snarled and shoved the speed aside. He wanted the bottle. It was in the far back, because everyone knows, one of those unwritten laws of the universe is that whatever you are looking for is always in the last place you look.   
  


He smiled as he withdrew it. He had a few various pill choices here. Some Vicodin, percoset, klonopin, loritab, flexeril, valium, and some strange pills he never remembered getting. They were small and green, and had been battered a bit. The name of the drug had worn off and now lay in dusty bits that clung to the inside of the tan plastic bottle. All he could recall was that they were supposed to be great for a high, or so the dealer had told him. They had come with some free pink pills because some people had adverse effects to them. If you started to feel bad you were to take two of the pink pills to however many of the green ones you took. Ooh, yippee! Medicinal Russian Roulette. He'd never taken them before so why the hell not? What did he have to lose? There wasn't much to him; to life. Just some Rock God figurehead, and la dee fucking da to that.   
  


He shook out a handful of pills picking out those anonymous green ones. Four went into his mouth along with a gulp from a cup of water beside his bed. Ewww. It was warm and dusty tasting, bearing testament to it's three night stint ad his midnight drink. He tilted his head back, willing the pills along and threw himself back. The pill bottle toppled, spilling pills across his floor. He wasn't worried, he had a pretty strong tolerance. "Work, work work. Make it go away. Take it all, it's so fucked up. I WANT to lose the day." His brain ran through those lines he'd spoken. Hm, not bad. It was certainly not anything Nittle Grasper would want or he would've hopped up and wrote it down. Depressions fine, every once in awhile, but swearing was definitely out.   
  


He wasn't sure if he slept or not, then.   
  


Pissed, thinking the pills weren't working, he debated whether or not to get up, and take his glass into the kitchen. He reached over and patted Kumagorou's head. The bunny smiled on. Lucky Kumagorou. No worries for him Save for his broken neck, split head, and spilt stuffing. It was ok, Noriko had sewn him up before. As long as her brought her the stuffing and bunny she would stitch him together, and wash him too. She was a good mother. She dressed a bit too sexy, but...He giggled.  
  


Shoving himself up, and picking up the mess of soda cans, occasional bottle of American beer, and his nasty water glass he stood. Some of the water sloshed over his hand and onto the night stand. Pills crunched under his bare feet and did you know that feet looked a lot like hands? Sure, they did. Humans and all other apes and monkeys were a lot alike in that respect. Hmm... His giggling continued, his cheeks wet again. Wow, everything was suddenly very funny. Wow, those carpet guys weren't lying when they told him that the carpet he'd bought would feel like clouds when walked on barefoot. Springy, springy.   
  


He dumped his glass in the sink, grinning like an idiot. His answering machine light blinked at him, but he already looked at his caller ID. It was just some damn magazine or another. Who gave a rat's ass. Grabbing his portable phone he ran through the number's of people who'd called him. The American magazine Entertainment Weekly, Pop Beat, Seventeen magazine, another American teen magazine...it would be the same questions:  
  


"Why did you leave the U.S. and go back to Japan?" His answer: " Because I felt like it you assholes!" No, no, no...it would be something more along the lines of: "Well, I got a bite from the travelbug, and I missed Japan, na no da!" Then he'd grin stupidly, and flash that "V" sign, before letting his sexy stage grin take over. The cameras would flash, and his eyes would narrow becoming cat-like. Those were the eyes, and that was that "Sex-god" look that had teenage boys and girls alike panting. Hey, Sakuma does NOT curse, not matter how much he wants too. "Assholes" is not in Ryuichi Sakuma's vocabulary. Ah, Shuichi had called him last week. It had been a short call because Yuki had yelled for him to come to dinner. Shuichi was lucky. Here was some private name, private number individual who had called him about twelve times now. He suspected it was Yuki's obsessive little brother, though how he'd gotten the number was anyone's guess. He was cute, but very overwhelming. He loved that on-stage, in front of the camera personality. Noriko had called to welcome him back to Japan since he'd been gone for a few months to wrap up some unfinished business before coming back to settle here for awhile. She'd given him a vague dinner invitation. She cared about him, but she was so damn busy. He could forgive her. She was so devoted to her daughter.   
  


His breath hitched and he could feel his heart jump. Ah, so these were uppers. Ok. That was good. He could appreciate a good HIGH high. Besides, he'd slept off a valium buzz yesterday and last night. Last week had been a Vicodin binge, though he was admittedly missing most of said week. He leaned his head back, letting it thunk against the fridge, his jaw tightening. The thunk bounced and echoed around the emptiness of his home. He did it again, appreciating some sound. He slumped a bit, his hands resting between his knees, the phone still clutched tightly. His hands shook. He'd always been vaguely amused by that side effect. He held up his free hand in front of his darkened blue eyes and watched, his giggle slightly hysteric. Lurching to his feet he used the remote to start up his C.D. Player. The stereo system kicked in "Sleepless Beauty" leaking out.   
  


With the phone in his left hand he stumbled into his bathroom, becoming personal with the walls before righting himself again. He gazed at himself in the mirror. Fuck it was all downhill. He was 31, had a great career, yes HAD a great career. No significant other. A shit load of money. A dead mother who'd hung herself with the belt of her robe while she was in the shower. A dead father. He just wasn't good enough, strong enough. While Sakuma was good enough, Sakuma was just a facade. He was fake. At heart there was just Ryu, still seventeen. A sad seventeen. A lonely seventeen. The world ended at seventeen. His pupils were so fucking off. He was pale, and sweating. (Damn but these were good). He halfway felt like running through his apartment screaming, like his body was begging him to do. Maybe he could go write a song now?  
  


Tohma had bought him a huge white board recently, and a bevy of colored markers. He'd been dismayed at Ryuichi's lack of regard for his floors and walls. He frowned and thought, forcing himself along back to his room. "White lady, white lady"...that was a nickname he'd heard for cocaine once. It was morbidly pretty, kind of like the name "Black Widow".   
  


"White Lady- she's gilding through the sky. White Lady, her fevers growing and she don't know why. White Lady." Good Chorus, now for the verse. "You don't hear her calling, but she's calling out to you. She's scared that she's falling and she wishes that you knew." Ryuichi stepped back . Nice. He'd changed the pronouns to fit a more feminine perspective. Tohma was smart and so was Noriko. Maybe this way they wouldn't be so suspicious. He hated their knowing gazes. Then they'd start accusing. Maybe they'd threaten again. He'd hated that. With a start he realized he'd finished the song. It paralleled the rise of a high, fall of a low, and the rise of another sickening high. Whee...like a roller coaster, no da.  
  


"She sees her own fate and she wonders if it's fair, that he set path is headed for despair." Tohma wouldn't like it. It was too sad. He shrugged. He had a solo career. Well, he had one but then he'd unofficially retired and returned to Japan.   
  


He was so shaky. He set the phone down he'd been clenching in his hand. A loud whooshing sound reached his pierced ears, and he frowned. It was his own breathing. Panting he capped the marker, and tossed it down. It landed somewhat near the board. Alright, he was bored now. Shining Collection played in the background. Yuki was a very good lyricist. He should write more songs.  
  


Wow. If you turn around too quickly you feel like you are moving underwater and the world goes kind of spinning and blurry for a second. He laughed feeling a little sick, unable to keep still. He fell to his knees near the phone. Dialing Tohma's number at work he placed the phone next to his ear. Why the hell wasn't it ringing? Oh, yeah. He needed to press the talk button. Yeah, there. NOW it's ringing. Wait, why was he calling Tohma? There wasn't any sort of emergency or anything. Tohma said to call his office if there was a big emergency, like a car accident. Or he was seriously ill. Otherwise he was supposed to call Mika, cause she was Tohma's wife. Mika was nice. She had retired recently, and she had some time sometimes. She would take him to lunch. He could also cal Noriko on her cell phone. But now, this time, right now, he wanted to call Tohma. Ring, Ring. Ring, Ring. He giggled again, the sound cracking a bit.   
  


"Seguchi." Tohma's voice was clipped and short. Poor Tohma. He was overworked, in Ryuichi's opinion. His mouth fell open and closed repeatedly, mimicking a fish, and he tried to stop his snorting giggles unsuccessfully. Tohma sighed, static crackling over the line. He sounded exhausted. "Hello?" His voice snapped. Ryuichi tried to work his voice again. His palms were slick and he juggled the phone as he wiped the skin on his jeans. 

"H-Hi Tohma." Ryuichi's voice sounded strained and high pitched to his own ears. Shit, he wanted to throw up. Tohma was silent as if he were thinking.   
  


"Ryu", Tohma sounded confused and no wonder. Ryuichi did not call him at work. Occasionally he would come see him unannounced or he and Mika would stop by to bring him lunch, but never disturbed him. His logic began to feel funky and circular. It was mildly amusing. Ryuichi wanted to answer Tohma back and say a great deal of things to him like: "I wrote a sing today na no da, and cried and broke Kumagorou but that was an accident. I've been toking up a lot lately even though I promised you I would quit, can you come help me and give me a hug? I don't want to be alone."   
  


"Ryuichi! Are you still there? What's wrong? What happened?" Tohma's voice held a note of panic. Tohma never panicked. Ryuichi's heart skipped and his breathing picked up even more. He was scaring Tohma. His heart was going so fast now and he kept shaking and shaking. He really thought he was about to throw up. Something wet drip dripped down his face. It left perfect sanguine droplets on his pretty beige carpet. Blood. Hm, his nose was bleeding. Rock on. He pushed two fingers against either side of his nostril, pinching them, and tilting his head back a bit. A burst then, in his mouth, and he nearly choked on the saliva. His stomach clenched and he gagged, hand coming away from his nose to brace his body and avoid collapsing in the floor. "Ryu?! You took something didn't you? Ryu, what'd you take?" The secret was out. Yep. Tohma was well, and truly panicked.   
  


"Tohma!" Ryuichi whispered. His voice was a soft wheeze. Ha. He was probably dying. He'd fucked up big this time. He fell forward, letting his forehead smack the carpet. He was going to die on the phone with his best friend. It was a nice twist from the stereotypical rock star overdose story. Dear Tohma. Tears hit his already cried out eyes. He was cold now, dammit, because his clothes were sticky with sweat. Maybe his heart would explode from his chest in this big bloody clump of writhing, spasming muscle. That might be interesting. He moved to his side, still clutching the phone in his hand.  
  


"Ryuichi?" He could hear the tears choking Tohma's lovely tenor voice. The man really did have a pretty voice. Tohma cursed then, slamming the phone down. Ryuichi could hear it. He giggled. All this because of his past. He shouldn't have taken those drugs in high school. Drugs helped him forget everything. His parents, the break up of Nittle Grasper, Noriko crying as he vomited up a small handful of pills, Tohma backhanding him across the face and holding him up against the wall screaming at him with anger, hurt, and guilt in his eyes. Shuichi and Tatsuha gazing at him in worshipful adoration, and adoration he did not deserve. He turned his head to the side, spying Kumagorou gazing at him comfortingly from atop the bed. He drug himself to towards his bed, his wheezing breath found, his body shaking violently, his ears ringing. He tugged his blue coverlet hard, and Kumagorou plummeted down to him.   
  


"Ryuichi?" What the hell? Who was talking to him? It sounded like Tohma's gentle voice. "I'm on the way Ryu, I'm in my car. I already called an ambulance. You have to hold on. Please, Ryu, please..." Tohma choked then. It had been the answering machine. The ringing in his ears had been the telephone then. He flopped next to a crushed pink pill. Well, fuck. He lay down, hugging his pink bunny. He was scared. He was so scare. Tears ran down his face. If he really tried hard he could imagine his father holding him and calling his name. Wiping away all his bitter tears. That soft hand, warm, and comforting touching his face. A thumb underneath one of his glazed blue eyes, taking all those tears as soon as they started to fall.  
  


"Ryuichi! Ryu!" Ah, there was Tohma again. Talking at him. Was it Tohma? Yes, because Daddy was dead, so Daddy couldn't be there with him. Tohma shifted him, lifting him. His stomach clenched and he choked. Tohma tilted his head to the side and Ryuichi promptly made a mess of that expensive business suit. He tried to apologize. He forced his eyes open, nearly convulsing in those strong arms. Blonde hair and blue eyes filled his vison and Tohma bent down to press a kiss to his over-warm forehead. Tohma was saying something then, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He squeezed Kumagorou then, smiling at both Tohma and the plush. He closed his eyes.  
  
  
  


~~~~~~~~~

Ok, I feel like an evil b*** now. Ha. Consider this payback for every cliffhanger I have read. Retaliation, na no da! Ok, this is supposed to be a one shot but if enough people complain I may be nice and continue. Otherwise, use your imagination. Have fun. Remember, constructive criticism is sweet, flames are laughed at and/or ignored. Now go do your civic duties and review. It is only kind. So, ja ne!   
  


Kriss


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